Moonlit Nightingale
by Random Guise
Summary: This was done for a reader who just wanted to talk and have some input on some things. It's meant to be a confidence booster in the form of a short. Basically OC set in the Glee world which I think fit it best. I don't own William McKinley High or any of the faculty or students therein. Rated T because of gender issues.


Moonlit Nightingale

A large banner with "William McKinley High Welcome Dance" was hung over the doorway and Mark and Stan entered the gym. Members of the Shawnee High Jazz Band from across town, they were guests of Mr. Schuester. Stan didn't know any of the students here, but as they stood near a wall near the entrance and watched people come in Mark seemed to know a few of the faces. Stan wanted to meet some girls, but so far he wasn't interested in any that came in that didn't already have a date.

"She seems pretty nice" said Mark as a girl in a blue dress walked in.

"Pretty, but a little on the short side."

"How about her?"

"Too much hair, it makes her head look three times bigger than it is" Stan commented.

"How about her?"

"Sorry, she reminds me too much of my sister. No thanks."

"You're just too picky Stan. The dance is going to be over and you'll still be waiting for the perfect one to walk in. If you want a see a model go to a fashion show."

A beauty walked in wearing a red dress with a sequined belt.

"That's her. That's the girl" Stan said as he came to full attention.

"Sorry dude. Not your type. Wait for the next one" Mark warned.

"Shuddup. I tell you, she's the one. I mean, just look at her. The most beautiful girl in the room. She almost sparkles on her own. I don't suppose you know her name?" Stan asked.

"No, I don't know his name."

"Who's name?"

"The guy in the red dress. I don't know his name" Mark answered.

"A guy? No way. That's a girl; you're lookin' at someone else."

"No, I have it on good authority from a friend it's a guy" Mark stated flatly.

"Can't be! She doesn't have a mustache."

"Stan, you don't have a mustache and you're a guy."

"That's because I shaved a few weeks ago. No Mark, she's a girl. Look at that smooth skin. Those lips. Perfect hair. And she doesn't have a ton of makeup on either." He squinted as he looked across the room. "And wonderful green eyes I think, it's hard to tell in this lighting. Look at how she's smiling for the picture! Perfect teeth too. No, your info is wrong. I mean, she's got...I mean...you know...cleavage."

"Dude, my uncle has cleavage on his back; of course he weighs 400 pounds. No, he may look like a girl but he isn't. I hear it's a genetic thing, hormones or chromosones or something like that. You're gonna be sorry."

"It's chromosomes Mark, not chromosones." Stan thought for a long moment. "I don't care. I'm going to go over and introduce myself to her and ask for a dance with the most gorgeous girl here."

Mark squinted and took a last look. "And what if she looks deeply into your eyes while you're dancing and tells you she's really a guy?"

"Then I'll still be dancing with the most beautiful person here" he said as he made his way over to the vision in red while the student band began the next song.

"Hi, I'm Stan from over at Shawnee High. I don't know anyone here, but even if I did I _have_ to dance with you. Or should I just go home now and start my rejection early?"

The most beautiful girl in the room gave a small smile and looked down briefly before looking up again. "Before you dance with me, I have to tell you something. Care to walk out by the fountain?"

He gestured with an "After you" and followed her outside to a nearby fountain. Her soft voice wasn't telling giving away any clues. They stood looking at the fountain while she pursed her lips to speak several times but stopped each time.

Finally she blurted out "Stan, you seem like a nice guy but I'm probably not who you think I am. I'm not an athlete, or a singer, or a brain; oh, I could go down a list of things I'm not. I'm not even a full-time student here, I get home schooled most of the time."

"Okay," said Stan "so we won't run a 50 yard dash, or sing a duet, or do calculus problems for fun. Like I said, I'm not a student here either; I'm just a guest of a faculty member. It doesn't mean we _can't_ dance, and it doesn't even mean we have to dance well."

"Well that's good, because I'm not a great dancer. Really I'm here because my Mom and Dad thought I should come and socialize more. I'm only at school one day a week to turn in lessons and pick up new ones, and to ask the teachers any questions I have. No, that's not the reason."

Stan was starting to get a hint, but he wanted to keep the mood light. "Do you have a boyfriend?"

"No."

"A girlfriend?"

"No."

"A boyfriend AND a girlfriend?"

She laughed. "No, that's not it either although it might be less complicated. No," she continued with a sigh "the problem is I'm really a guy. Well, kind of a guy. I'll understand if you want to go."

Stan sat on the edge of the fountain. "Maybe if there was a wild bear behind you, but I'll stay. Tell me about it."

"It's all pretty scientific stuff, but to make it simple I was born a guy. But my body's genes came out wrong and when I got older I started looking more like a girl. They did tests and everything, and that's when my family started homeschooling me. So that list of things I'm not can have guy and girl on it; I'm nothing."

"Hey," Stan said "don't say that! You're somebody; I don't talk to nobodies. Except maybe my sister." They laughed. "Just kidding, she's okay. But seriously, I know that I don't know you but you seem great to me. As I was…wait a minute. I still don't know your name."

"Legally it's Gene, but I go by Jean a lot" she said, spelling it out. "I'm not that fond of it either way, but it's my name." A bird flew past the fountain, a mere shadow in the night as it twittered on the light breeze.

"Tonight you are my Nightingale" Stan declared. "Don't try to change it or I'll switch it to Owl."

"But I don't sing."

"Does a bird's song have words? To other birds perhaps, but to us a sweet melody bereft of such limits as consonants and vowels. And the pesky letter 'Y' that doesn't play fair. Did I mention I'm in the Jazz Band at school?" Stan asked.

"No, we skipped that part."

"I'm not that good at it" he admitted" but it's fun. But you said you're home schooled. Not much chance to dance there I'd imagine."

"No, I'm by myself a lot. I don't fit in anywhere really."

Stan stood up. "Look at the moon. Does it really fit in with the tiny pinpricks of light that are stars? It's always getting in the way of seeing them, or sometimes blocking the sun during the day. Scientists don't even agree how we got it really, but it's there. And it fits in this way; by moving around the Earth it steadies the planet and keeps it from wobbling around. It helps us keep track of time, and even gives us tides at the beach. It's slowing moving away from us and one day will be gone, but for our lifetimes and untold years ahead it has a place to 'fit in' beside the Earth. A shining nightlight for a passing Nightingale."

"Am I just a passing bird to you?"

"I hope not. The friend that I came with, Mark, is in there right now so he can back up what I'm going to say now. When you walked into that room I told him you were the most gorgeous girl in the room. He asked me what if what he had heard was right and you were a guy? I told him I'd still be dancing with the most beautiful person in the room." Stan's ear had been listening to the music coming through the gym door. A slow song was just starting now.

He stepped up to her. "Dance with me" he said as he stretched out his arms. She hesitated, then came into his arms. Together they began a slow dance around the fountain.

"I won't pretend to know how difficult your life has been before," Stan said quietly in her ear as his arms circled her waist "but right now it seems like you fit in pretty good to me."

The End

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 **A/N: I was messaged by someone who said they were having a tough time dealing with some long term image issues stemming from a medical condition and needed a little confidence builder. The picture I was sent inspired this story. I hope it helped a certain Nightingale.**


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